Numb
by Snowdrop.Faery
Summary: [Oneshot]Death affects us all, even those who least expect it.


_A bit of drabble that is keeping me from doing homework._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own imagination_

_Summary: Death affects us all, even those who least expect it._

**Numb**

She looked upon the graveyard sadly, her once youthful and often expressional face blank and withered. She felt as she looked: old, tired and sick of life. The flowers she held in her hands were being gripped so tightly they were wilting by the second.

She wandered throughout the hanging trees and cement blocks that were placed to remember the dead; although, she thought, no words could make an object look any less harsh or heartbreaking. She stumbled over a branch and felt a tear roll down her face. A crack of thunder broke through the sky, the thick pummeling clouds echoing her mood. She picked herself up and wiped her face, and continued to walk down the line. Stone upon stone guided her path until she reached the end.

A chain link fence seemed wrong in such an atmosphere but she ignored it and sat down upon the freshly overturned ground, her body instantly leaving an imprint for the next person, if there were another person.

There was no gravestone here, just mossy grass and a heap of dirt. It had been a memorial ceremony this day years ago when she had lost him. The young woman recalled the flashes of light that had happened; every step she took when it happened, where she had been and what exactly she had been doing when he went down, the forever flutter of that piece of fabric. That was it. It had been over just like that. The brave person she had once known with shaggy hair and a favorable sense of humor last existed in her mind as being lost to a piece of dirty, shabby cloth.

It was ironic really, she thought, that someone so great, who had escaped death for so many years finally lost it to an inanimate object. A dirty piece of cloth too, like the one she had seen on that house elf for so many years. That house elf, she shook her head in disgust. He didn't deserve to live, she thought. After giving him away so freely, she almost killed the dratted house elf herself had Dumbledore not stopped her. But he was gone too now; Dumbledore that is. Who else would leave? Who else would decide that they no longer wanted to fight… or even if it was against their will, who else would accept that fate?

She let out a laugh turned sob that wracked her body. The rain started to fall and it almost steamed off her burning skin. Memories flooded her brain as she sat there, her body tired and miserable.

He had always been her favorite cousin. Always. They got along secretly; against his parents will, and any other family that had abandoned hers. She had become an auror for that reason: to destroy those who discriminated against people like her father…or to at least teach them a lesson. It was hard to be friends with someone if their family didn't like yours, she realized. She laughed again, but this time it tinkled against the cool evening air.

She had been dueling with him when they first met, and she had won. Sirius was a miserable loser she remembered, especially since she was younger than he was. It had been shot after shot, curse after curse; it was the never-ending duel, but she won by fluke. She almost wished she had let him win now, so that they would've spent more time together before it was all over. Had she known she probably would've let him finish her off in the first minute. But she didn't, and he didn't talk to her for a month—a full month! She realized the idiocy of it now, and how childish they had been. But he had respected her after that.

The rain began to fall harder and although the youthful woman was sitting underneath a tree, the ground she sat on began to turn to mud. She heard the mucky sound of her weight sinking into the soft, messy ground but ignored it. Maybe that way she would be closer to him.

She wasn't aware of the other person in the graveyard. He had come in slowly, looking for her. The rain made plunking noises off his worn leather jacket, and he thought himself to be mental searching out in the pouring rain. It had been his idea that she would be here, so he volunteered himself to look. But now looking back at it, he didn't really think she would be here. Maybe she was out drinking, or shopping, or doing what the average female would do? But now he realized that she wouldn't be sitting in a graveyard.

He padded through the muck, past the cement slabs that marked death. It was wet, very wet, and he found he was wishing he had placed a charm on himself before leaving the house. He pulled out his wand and sighed at the feeling of warmth and dryness.

He found her sitting on the ground, back against the rather large oak tree which didn't offer her much protection from the rage of the storm. He rushed over to her petite body and assumed this to be her original form. Her hair was a light shade of brown, her face turned away from him so he couldn't see.

She was still unaware of his presence and continued to stare at the mound of mud.

"Nymphadora," he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. He crouched down to her eye level and she turned to face him. Her eyes were a piercing chestnut color, and her nose sat on her face like a foreigner—small and out of place. Freckles were scattered across her cheeks and mascara was streaked across them. Tears and rain were mixed on her pale complexion, giving her a look of wisdom and innocence.

"Tonks," she corrected him softly. She turned back to the grave, unblinking.

"Tonks," he said. "You're going to get sick, please come with me."

"Can't," she said simply, her voice quavering.

"Please."

She let out a sob and her body trembled. She leaned her head against the tree, her mouth open, and air coming in and out in short gasps. She turned to look at him, her life flashing in emotions across her face.

"I… I can't—breathe," she finally managed. He leaned in and her body continued to shudder, although she began to calm down slightly. She laid her head down on his shoulder and gasped a few more times before her breathing swallowed. "How many people are—" she hiccupped, "are going to die Remus? Before this is over?"

Remus shook his head. "I don't know." The rain continued to come down steadily and she shivered in his arms.

"P-promise me you won't die," she said, her body trembling slightly.

He sighed, the worn look on his face both confused and disturbed. "I don't know if I can," he whispered. She looked up at him, tears still streaming down her face, the mascara mere smears of black, washed away by the water coming from the sky or her eyes; he couldn't tell. "I'll try."

"Good." She said this with a resolute look of determination. "Me too." She hiccupped again.

"Are you cold," he asked, his voice rather tired. She nodded. Remus pulled out his wand and waved it lightly and smiled, as her face became one of relief.

"I think I was beginning to go numb," she said softly.

"We all are," he said smartly back. They looked at Sirius' make shift grave and across the foggy land of the dead. The stars were starting to make themselves seen and he knew that they had to leave soon. "We all are," he repeated, and sat beside her.


End file.
